He was tall, thin, silver haired, distinguished looking. He wore a crisp black suit, with a white, button-up shirt beneath. Every hair was in place, every bit of fabric perfectly creased. His eyes were pale blue, watery, red at the edges. But there was something about his eyes—something wrong. They were empty—dangerously empty.

“Mr. Garcia,” he said, his voice flat, bored, as he bobbed his head toward Michael. Jamie moved to stand beside Michael, a supernatural barrier between us and the bad guys. “Ms. Riley,” he said. I guessed that was Jamie.

And then the man leveled his watery gaze at me, and I shuddered reflexively.

“I don’t believe we’re acquainted,” he said, just before Sebastian leaned in and whispered something to him.

The man’s eyebrows lifted in interest.

My stomach fell, and I hunched a little closer to the table behind me. I was confident I did not want this guy interested in me.

“Aha,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “The girl who, shall we say, became closely acquainted with Mr. Born’s magic?”

I took a moment to glare at Sebastian, who I assumed had mentioned that he’d hit me with firespell during my fateful trip into the basement.

But more interesting was the look I got back from him. I expected disdain or irritation—the emotions on Alex’s face. But Sebastian looked almost . . . apologetic.

“I’m Jeremiah,” the older man said, drawing my attention away from Sebastian. “And I can’t tell you how interested I am to make your acquaintance. I hope you weren’t harmed?”

“I’m fine,” I gritted out, doubtful that he cared whether I’d been harmed or not. The lights above us flickered once, then twice. When Jeremiah’s eyes flicked with interest to the fixtures, I knew I had to tamp it down. I didn’t want him knowing that I was now an Adept, thanks to “Mr. Born’s magic,” and that I was now one of his enemies.

As if she understood the struggle, Scout squeezed my hand. I squeezed back and forced myself to stay calm.

Since Jeremiah was older than the Reapers around him, I assumed he was a leader, one of the self-centered asses who’d decided that taking the lifeblood of others was a cost worth paying to keep his own magic.

He looked from me to Michael and Jamie. “Your distraction was just that,” he said. “Merely a distraction. Next time, you might do a little more planning. But, since you’re here, what brings you to our little sanctuary?”

As if he didn’t know. “You kidnapped my friend,” I reminded him.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes as if bored by the accusation. “Kidnapping is a harsh word, Ms. Parker, although given the fact that you’ve undoubtedly been brainwashed by these agitators, these troublemakers, I’ll forgive the transgression. These children don’t understand the gifts they’ve been given. They reject their power. They turn away from it, and they blame us for accepting it. For abiding by the natural order. They cast us as demons.”

“The power corrupts,” Michael said. “We don’t reject it. We give it back.”

“And what do you have to show for that decision?” Alex asked. “A few years of magic until you’re normal again. Ordinary.”

“Healthy,” Michael said. “Helpers. Not parasites on the world.”

Jeremiah barked out a mirthless laugh. “How naïve, all of you.” He aimed his gaze at me. “I would hope, Ms. Parker, that you might spend some time thinking critically about your friends and whatever lies they told you. They are a boil on the face of magic. They imagine themselves to be saviors, rebels, a mutiny against tyranny. They are wrong. They create strife, division, amongst us when we need solidarity.”

“Solidarity to take lives?” I wondered aloud. “To take the strength of others?”

Jeremiah clucked his tongue. “It’s a pity that you’ve succumbed to their backward belief that the magic they’ve been given is inherently evil. That it is inherently bad. Those are ideas for the small-minded, for the ignorant, who do not understand or appreciate the gifts.”

“Those gifts degrade,” Jamie pointed out. “They rot you from the inside.”

“So you’ve been taught,” Jeremiah said, taking a step toward us. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“Wrong?” Scout asked hoarsely. “How could they be wrong?”

“You steal other peoples’ essences,” Michael said, pointing at Scout, “from people like her, in order to survive. Does that sound right to you?”

“What is right, Mr. Garcia? Is it right that you would be given powers of such magnitude—or in your case, knowledge of such magnitude—for such a short period of time? Between the ages of, what, fifteen and twenty-five? Does it seem natural to you that such power is intended to be temporary, or does that seem like a construct of shortsighted minds?”

I glanced over at Scout, who frowned as if working through the logic and wondering the same thing.

“We agree to give up their powers,” Jamie pointed out, “before they become a risk. A liability. Before we have to take from others.”

“A very interesting conclusion, Ms. Riley, but with a flawed center. Why should you protect humans who are not strong enough to take care of themselves? What advantage is there in stepping forward to protect those who are so obviously weak? Whose egos vastly outpace their abilities? Those who are gifted with magic are elite amongst humans.”